The Local Artist, My Hero

The Local Artist, My Hero

I definitely have an identity problem. I am a revolutionary, a contrarian. I don’t know if it is holy sometimes.

I don’t like estate-based worship music, and I don’t like leaving the little guys behind. I like simple. I like basic. I like the voice and timbre of normal. I realize right now that everyone large and small have been taught to pretend they are in an epic social theater, living in epic worship conferences, and only singing epic songs as they live their epic lives. Sure, epics have their place. Epics, however, are not daily diet items in the real world. Attempting to live this way might stoke the ego so hot that the reality of daily life become menial and useless. This would lead to poor treatment of one another because we would have no context for seeing our daily as beautiful in and of itself.

I long for the Psalms of the daily struggle. The Psalms of prophecy that touches home between the threads of a worn kitchen washcloth. The songs that sound like the creaking of the porch swing and the closing of dad’s car door when he arrives home from work. 

You artists of the everyday. I salute you all. Your numbers on Spotify may remain rather pathetic. Your notoriety in the hip circles may remain at level zero. However, you are my heroes. You have chosen to be a musical hero for those within your reach, and you are putting a shovel into the ground of the world you can actually touch, and you are making a difference.

You are doing what no distant trumpet can do; a rooster on the roof of the barn you are literally waking up the earth in the valley of your choosing. You are my hero, and you may never be in a feature film. You are my hero because your courage to love did not find its strength in the wind stirred from the clapping and accolades of strangers on a global social media account.

Go, and be the kind of amazing that is satisfied with the delicious work at hand. Write those local celebrations, grieve over local loss, and sing the Gospel of the Kingdom into the grit of your dusty roads and traveled places. These are people we are talking about, and they are golden.

I am following you, best I can.

Is There Room For Lament?

Is There Room For Lament?

Best of the Week : December 7th

Best of the Week : December 7th